


will i change for good?

by empires



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Beastmen - Freeform, Curse Breaking, Curses, Dick Grayson is a Talon, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, jason todd is not a changeling, mysterious magical stranger dick grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires
Summary: PROMPT 3 for 3ismeJason runs from the villagers that have hated him his whole life. They think he's a changeling. A child of the fae swapped with a human baby during infancy. He's not. Despite all the odd things that make him different from the others, he knows he's not. But They don't, and they will kill him if they catch him. Painfully.Just as the angry mob catches up to him, he's saved by Dick: your everyday traveller and, apparently, fellow changeling in disguise. Y'know. If Jason was a changeling. Which he's not.Promise.PROMPT  1 for TheWayneMannerGeneral Request: A Dark!Au of some sort. Horror and/or gothic elements. Heavy angst. Eerie vibes. NO Rape NO Underage.Ideas: DarkFae!Dick, Mobster AU, Demon/Angel AU, Siren!Dick AU, Gothic/Horror AU, Dystopian AU, Vampire AU, Prostitute AU, Prison AU, Asylum AU... Really anything that has a dark twist to it, the boys struggling with their inner demons. BONUS: It would be awesome if the fic contained an element of forbidden love with it. Boys against the world kind of vibe.Ambiguous or sad ending is welcome.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 11
Kudos: 93
Collections: JayDick Summer Exchange 2020





	will i change for good?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3isme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3isme/gifts), [TheWayneManner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWayneManner/gifts).



> I'm not a dark writer, but these two prompts kickstarted something in the idea factory. I hope you enjoy what's to come!

For every step Jason takes along the stony path along the riverside, the sounds of the mob grow closer. He can hear them in the distant dark, their shouts, their accusations, their fears made real by a trick of the light and a misplaced purse of money.

At the top of the hill, he pauses, eyes frantic on the torchlight drawing near and the shadows that sprawled forward, the weapons that shone with a righteous thirst. His heart bounces in his chest like a heavy hammer dancing on the blacksmith’s forge, and his body aches from the weight of fists and feet and rocks used against him but stopping is certain death. He turns to continue his escape when something new joins the rabble.

Stark and strangely haunting on a moonless night, the baying of hounds carries through the air with a hunger Jason can almost smell. Something deep within him quells in fear whilst another part of him bares his teeth ready to challenge the foolish village people desperate enough to send dogs on an unarmed, penniless young man. 

Rather than continue his trail along the path, Jason cuts towards the high reeds and leaps into the river. The water is bitterly cold and swirling with intent, but Jason struggles across the current until his foot hits land once more. Gasping, he pulls himself up the embankment begins his run anew, heading into thick woodlands that sprung up the hill.

Seeking vines tear from the root and long branches snap from the force of his headlong dash into the Eldar Woods. The air is markedly cooler beneath the great trees and rich with the scent of tree and moss and—Jason’s head snaps east where a warm food smell beckons him. In the distance he spies it, the white glow of a campfire, bright and welcoming. A feeling of relief overwhelms him as he stumbles towards the circle of light. Swiftly, the strains of music overtake the sounds of shouting, laughter curses, and Jason, desperate for safety, ignores the way his instincts flare when he bursts through the underbrush.

The dancing bodies do not stop to acknowledge Jason’s approach, yet the rowdy sway and twirl of their bodies seem to beckon him near with the promise of rest, food, peace. It has been so long since he has been at peace, so long he cannot remember the taste of it. Swallowing, he takes another step forward unheeding of how his worn soles crush the soft bed of flowers beneath.

A voice cuts through the trilling flutes and the cheerful thrum of a lap harp, joyous and free, stopping Jason in his tracks.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, kit.”

Startled, Jason finds a small campfire, warm and small as a candle’s flame, at the edge of his vision. He wants to turn and address this voice but finds that his head will not obey him. Neither do his hands or feet, which suddenly feel chilled. The sound of the flute grows louder, shrill almost, and Jason feels his foot lift.

“Why don’t you listen to me instead? That’s it. I’ve been waiting for someone to speak to for some time. Why don’t you come over here and talk to me?” 

The voice is mellow and warm and brings with it the scent of pipe smoke and the faint musk of night flowers that bloom under a waning moon. Jason inhales deeply and the freezing sensation relents. He can move now, and his first stumbling step is away from the ghostly flames and the wild music rending the air and towards the cheerful fire crackling alone in the night.

“Just a little bit more, kit, you’ve almost made it.”

Jason stumbles his way across the few steps, a little more. His mind feels addled and his feet heavier than the sand bags he had moved to help protect the walls from the rising waters, but when it felt like he could go no further, Jason drops to his knees. The fire’s heat washes over him chasing more of the chill from his bones. 

“Here.” A drinking tin is placed in his hands, which are molded to hold the cup. It’s warm to the touch, but the fingers upon his are hotter. 

Slowly, Jason lifts his head. Kneeling before him is a man in a dark coat and pants with a thick cut of blue cloth wrapped around his waist. A wide hat of black straw sits upon his head, casting his face in shadow. He looks young but feels older to Jason’s eyes, in the same way that the spring leaves unfolding atop the tallest trees feels ancient and also new. Perhaps it is the scruff along his chin and the end of a carved jade pipe clenched between his teeth that lends the stranger this air. Jason blinks through the haze of campfire smoke and pipe smoke that stings his twitching nose pleasantly.

“What just happened? Who are you?”

“Fortunately for you, nothing happened as you only nearly ran into a fae circle. As for your second question, I am Grayson, although you can call me Dick,” Dick doffs his hat granting Jason a full glance at his unkempt hair and unfairly handsome face. 

If it is the news that sends shivers up Jason’s spine or the cavalier way news of his brush with never ending torment is revealed to him, Jason doesn’t know. He scrubs at his damp hair, confused and somehow more afraid than he was only minutes ago. “A fae circle. Here? Why?”

The hamlet Jason traveled within is deep within the human kingdom of Nestor, far from the Nexus, where the fae made their home and further still from the fabled floating mountains of Cradawk Maw, the protected lands of the beastkin. Fae should have no reason to travel here let alone seek to entrap wanderers.

Grayson tugs a clean sheet of cloth free from his pack and tosses it across Jason’s shoulders. “Few can guess the will of the fae, for the come and go where they please. But I think I know the answer.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Grayson says with nod. “Recently the Oracle said that on a moonless night, a changeling could be found on the banks of the River Thom.”

Jason meets an expectant stare with one of dull humor. “What does this mean?” Jason asks.

“Actually, the Oracle said, ‘On a moonless night, in the place where boundaries lie idle and equal, a lost changeling will be found.’ It takes quite a remarkable talent to translate her words and more to find how they relate to the world beyond a divination chair.” The chatter spills almost unheard from Grayson’s mouth as Jason’s attention fixes upon the most important detail. 

“I am not a changeling,” he hisses, glaring up at his savior. Instead of the stammering his hard glare typically receives, Jason’s glare is met by a searching eyes of deepest blue that flicker in the shine of the light, becoming luminous, yet the affect disappears before Jason can properly blink. The frank return of his challenge makes Jason's chest fill with an anger he can barely contain. With a low growl, he turns his head away.

“I’m not,” he mutters softly. 

“No, kit, I imagine that is not all you are.” Warm hands cover Jason’s and push the cup closer towards him. The scent of tea wafts up. It’s clean and sharp, not at all like the night blossoms that brought guided him here. “Drink. It will help you.”

Jason eyes the softly colored water with some trepidation. If what this Grayson says is true and he did save Jason, eating or drink anything right now is worth a second thought. “What is it?”

A smile touches Grayson’s lips. “A cleansing tea. Come now, kit. I wouldn’t just save you to do something terrible would I?”

“Stop calling me that. My name’s Jason, Jason Todd. Use it and not whatever nickname you’ve got in your head to call me. And I am not a changeling. You’re mistaken if you think I am.”

“Todd? My mistake to think Jason Todd would be a changeling?” Dick bows elegantly at the waist in a manner that contains genuine regret and mocking amusement. Perhaps he is as talented as he claims.

The tea is hot and a little sweet. Jason moans after his first sip and then drinks the rest down with an unmatched thirst. The liquid heats Jason inside out, and at last he relaxes from his knees to a comfortable sitting position on the ground. The fire feels comfortably warm. Perhaps it might be best if Jason just lay down for a while.

“Oh dear. You’re about to.... Well, don't just fall over, oof!" 

It’s entirely too much to ask a young man who, after carrying sand sacks for half the day for a bundle of bread and six copper trade, fell victim to an obvious plot to press him into service that saw him receive a public flogging, escape and chased for at least a league and then swim across the widest stretch of the River Thom only to be nearly snatched by roving fae to stay upright. Indeed, stronger men that Jason have failed. He let the darkness come for him, and is mildly upset when he falls against a hard shoulder instead of the heather grass. Immediately, his head is filled by blooming flowers and winter, a strange and lovely contrast.

Eyes closed, he can easily taste the scent and perhaps see it, vivid as the sky come morning, cold as winter, beguiling as night flowers. He nuzzles closer, thinking he could enjoy this forever. “It’s you that smells so sweet.” 

“Is it now?”

Jason frowns at the gentle touch to his chin lifting his face higher. “Tis it?”

“How long have you been in Nestor?”

“Long as I can remember.” 

“I see. What do you remember before that?”

“Don’t remember anything except running. Oh. The villagers,” Jason considers opening his eyes, but it feels utterly impossible. His eyelids must contain the weight of mountains. “They were after me. Said I stole a purse. Liars. You should run. We should always be ready to run.”

“Not this time, kit. It will be two you owe me though, and my favor will not be easily returned.”

“Thank,” Jason’s voice balls into a quiet snore. He reels at a bite of pain across his cheek. “Oh.”

“And Gotham? Hey, now. Just a moment longer. What do you know about Gotham?”

Jason struggles to answer. “Just a city, innit? Far away from here.” 

“Not so far as you think it, kit, never so far that you can run from it.” 

A slow tapping beats upon Jason’s cheek. It’s soft yet repeating like water falling from a leaf. Pipe smoke filled the air.

“Would you wear this for me, Jason?”

Jason sighs heavily. “If it gets you to leave me alone, Grayson. I’m tired.”

Soft laughter. “Yes. I do suppose you are.”

The last thing Jason remembers is the cold feel of metal scraping against his skin.

Some say that magic has a scent, others say it has a distinct taste. The ones who are in between can see the words of making unfolding in the air in golden letters as clearly as letters dashed upon the page. These words condense into a milky gold light that coalesces around Jason’s prone body. When it clears, a rather large fox with a sooty black face and ears to match lies in Jason’s place .

Dick crouches down beside him, a shallow smile upon his face.

“My little fox, you’ll soon discover the Gray Son no longer makes mistakes. They are far too costly.”


End file.
